𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞

A Trip To Baker Street

COPYRIGHT NOTICE - we do not own the characters of this story, they belong to the wonderful author of Sherlock and the creators of the BBC show. But we do own the story line.. So without further ado, enjoy!
........................................................

Mycroft huffed as he walked up the dark staircase. He'd been forced to take a day off by his forceful mother and spend it with his brother. He got to the top of the stairs and entered feeling the eerie silence. Looking around he couldn't spot his brother. He stood in the doorway trying to figure out where he could be.

Suddenly, feeling a gust of wind enter the flat and hearing a soft tip tapping noise from outside his door, Sherlock sat up in bed cautiously. He could sense someone else's presence, waking him from his peaceful slumber. To investigate, he slowly sprang out of bed, wrapped his white, cotton bed sheet around his body and carefully tapped to his bedroom door, peeking to see who the intruder was. He saw a taut figure dressed in a suit, shuffling around in the flat and complaining at the sight of it. Mycroft.

Mycroft moved stuff with his umbrella and wrinkled his nose at the smell. Would it really kill him to tidy? He asked himself. But before he could continue Sherlock's voice interrupted him.

'Mycroft what are you doing?' Sherlock asked sleepily from the doorway.

Mycroft's eyes looked at him in disbelief

'Sherlock, for goodness sake put something on. I'm waiting for you'
He groan shaking his head at Sherlock. Then looking back at the living room he sighed.
It looked like a pig sty it was disgusting! He thought in pure disgust.

Sherlock's mind ran: My brother was looking at me like I was a dirty animal released into the wild. And he actually asked me to put something on, he barged into my house, insulted me then asked me it out clothes on. Why?

He peered at him closely, trying to deduce why he was here. Sherlock saw layers upon layers of finery, obviously dressed to go somewhere but his umbrella, he had a casual umbrella not a posh one like the one he usually donned. Questions upon questions.

So, he crept up to Mycroft and asked, 'why, why are you here and why should I change' he said flailing his arms in emphasis

Mycroft shook his head disapprovingly

'Would it kill you to clean in here?'
Mycroft asked distastefully moving into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. After inspecting his unspeakably disgusting cups, Mycroft decided not to make one after all.

'I'm going to get some coffee, get dressed while I leave'

He told him, heading to the door to go to the cafe below the flat.

After Mycroft had left, Sherlock thought for a moment. Yes it probably would kill him to clean in here, there were so much dangerous things in there that even he, himself didn't even know of, perhaps Mrs Hudson did.
While waiting for his prudish brother, Sherlock sank into an armchair- John's armchair- John had gone with Rosie for the week. The armchair was so soft, but red and frayed like John's heart, he had suffered so much after Mary.

It was my fault, I made a vow, I should've saved her, I could've, if I just moved!

All these thoughts flooded Sherlock's head like a train in an abandoned station, slamming into his brain. He couldn't control it. The pain was unbearable.

After settling for a latte Mycroft left the cafe. It was weird walking up the stairs not knowing what today would hold and even weirder getting to the top of the stairs and seeing his brother still not dressed but sitting in John's chair...was he stroking it? Mycroft frowned not making a noise.